


(mute)

by Augustus



Category: The Bill
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-20
Updated: 2000-11-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney musings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(mute)

It hasn't always been this way. The first times we made love it was anything but that. There were no soft whispered words, no gentle caresses, no sinking deep into each other's souls. A passionate fuck. No more, no less.

And I'm not suggesting it wasn't good. It was fantastic. But, in time, the frantic tearing of clothes and quick, clandestine sex ceased to be enough. I found myself thinking of him when we were apart at work, when I was at home at night, when I was even doing my grocery shopping. He became an obsession to me. When I lay in bed at night, I would imagine him lying beside me, his body curled tight into mine, limbs and minds intertwined as eyes dove ever deeper into an answering abyss. I found myself making excuses to see him more often. When there were no real reasons, I made them up. It wasn't hard. He was always quick to play along, to contribute an elaborate scenario of his own to the ever rising reservoir.

It took me a year to admit it. A year to acknowledge the euphoric ache that slowly wreaked a path throughout every cell of my body, every shadow of my soul. A year to realise that I would cease to exist if I could be with him no more. It took me a year to admit that I had fallen in love.

I never told him. It was not our way and there was no need. He could see it reflected in the glint of my eyes, hear it whispered in the shadows of my every spoken word. And I knew he felt the same. He didn't have to adorn me with elaborate confessions of everlasting dedication. I would have shied away, panicked, had he ever done so. There was a beauty in our silence. The words were denied by the nature of our characters but, in being held unuttered, they became golden.

And I did love him. The feel of his body pressed warm against my own as winter shadows grew about us, the sound of his breath as he slept, head resting heavy on my chest. The way the corners of his mouth twitched in an attempted smile whenever our eyes met. The courage and strength I felt with him at my side. The knowledge that I would never awaken from the dream, that there would never be anything more thrilling, more fulfilling than whispered conversations and wordless glances.

When we fucked, it had somehow metamorphosed into making love. And it was better somehow, although every curve and angle of his body had long since been engraved deep within my mind, within my heart. There were no more hastened fumblings on summer-hot vinyl whenever a suitable allotment could be found in which to park, no more rough kisses whenever the desire became too fiery to control. And yet nothing was missed, replaced instead by something too deep to be ignored. Too strong to die.

He was too strong to die. 

What is love, what are strength and life, when the talons of death can reduce them to memory? Perhaps if we had ever uttered the superfluous words they might have formed a barrier against fate. Words might have been victorious where inner sentiment was not. And yet I will never ache to hear the echo of unnatural declarations, as long as the hazel of his eyes remains bright within my mind.

**20th November 2000**


End file.
